Nights Drag On
by thebutterfliesarewilting
Summary: You light up your millionth cancer stick for the night. You're hoping that maybe the more you smoke, the less you'll think, but you just can't get it out of your head that you are so messed up.


**A/N Number 20! Finally, my 20th story. I'm so proud. Haha! ...Sorry, little hyper here. And, it's a story that is actually about Two Bit, and not his sister. **

**Special thanks to Aly208 for betaing (is beating a word?), even though she said to stop thanking her. You guys should check her out, she's pretty awesome. **

**Warning: This has heavy language, so watch out. And there is one sided slashyness. Yes, slashyness. Haha. I need a nap. **

**Feel free to point out any mistakes. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Outsiders. I know, ****I know. It's a shock to us all, really. **

You light up your millionth cancer stick for the night. You think that maybe the more you smoke the less you'll think, but you still can't get it out of your head that you're so fucked up.

You're screwed in the head and you're hoping that it's just because your Ma dropped you too many times as a baby. Maybe God hates you, maybe he's tormenting you for every evil thing you've ever done. You've never really been big on believing in a god, though, so you don't have that excuse to fall back on. But your Ma didn't drop you and God doesn't hate you, so that leaves you right where you started; you're just a fucked up kid.

You know you're screwed up, but you just _can't_ stop thinking about him, and you hate it.

You find yourself thinking about him when you're trying not to, and it pisses you off to no end. You always think of his eyes first; they're defiant and an icy cold blue, like his personality. You hate how much you love his eyes. Then, you think of his hair. He doesn't grease it back and it surprised you how soft it was the first time you brushed against it. He's blonde and you think it's funny how some things never change. Last, you think of his body. He's lean and muscular and his body is rugged and full of scars and it drives you insane. You hate thinking of his body because it always leaves you with a problem in your pants that you can only take care of in the privacy of your room or in an empty one at Buck's.

Boys are supposed to like pussy and tits, and you did. God, you loved getting with broads. At some point you were normal, which you take comfort in. And it's not that you'd get with any guy out there. Just Dally. But that still makes you a fag, right? You're not quite sure about the technicalities, but you're pretty sure it still makes you a fag.

You need another cigarette. You step on your old one and reach for your pack, but it comes up empty. You curse under your breath for not having another pack in your room. You'd go ask Janie for one of hers, but she went out with her boyfriend and probably won't be back until late at night or early in the morning, with her hair tussled and in the same clothes she was wearing today. And maybe you'd steal a pack from her room if she was younger, but she's grown up now and she has girlish things that you don't want to see in your sister's room.

You look over to the clock and decide it's not too late to drop by the Curtis'. You'd settle for swiping them, because you really don't want to go there - Dally's probably hanging around there - but everywhere you can swipe cancer sticks from is either closed or too far away now that your car is broken down. Again. But you really need another smoke, so you risk it and grab your jacket and lumber on over to the Curtis'.

The night air feels good on your skin. It's refreshing to know that even while you're screwed up and the world has stopped for you, the wind still blows and people still work and everything goes on. You don't mean much to most people, and you find yourself surprised by the fact that you don't really care.

You realize that you're on the Curtis porch. How long have you been standing there? You shake your head; whether you're shaking away the day dreams or your thoughts, you aren't sure. You suck in a deep breath and plaster on what you hope is a realistic smile. You open the door and shout, "Hey, y'all!"

You get a bunch of replies; one of them is Dally's. Fuck. You need beer. You head to the fridge with a bounce in your step. No beer. Fuck. You can't catch a break, can you? You go back to the living room, plop down on the floor, and watch whatever they're playing on the TV. Everyone is here. Great. Darry's in his armchair, as always. Pony is sitting with Johnny, who's lying down on the couch. He must have gotten another beating, poor kid. Steve and Soda are arguing about who's cheating in poker, which means they probably both are. Dal is leaning against the wall. He's staring at you and you pretend not to notice, but it makes you antsy. Darry's looking at you funny, too. You're acting normal, aren't you?

Smoke, smoke, smoke. You need a fucking smoke. "Any of y'all got a smoke? I'm all out." Soda and Steve don't hear you over their arguing. Johnny mumbles, "I must've dropped mine. Sorry," after patting his pockets tensely. Thank God, Pony has one. He takes his pack out and tosses it to you. You light up and suck in a breath. The familiar burn in your throat feels nice, normal.

Darry and Dal are still looking at you. You don't have to look at them to know that, you can feel their eyes on you. "Thanks, kid," you mutter.

Pony grunts as Darry says, "You only get to smoke once in here. Don't waste it." You nod and stand up to head outside. You can't take it in there. On your way out, you glance at Dally and you can't stand the smirk on his face. He always has the same smirk, but somehow it's different each time. It's the same but it's different. They all mean something; 'You shouldn't have done that.'; 'I know something you don't know.'; 'This conversation is over whether you like it or not.'; etc, etc, etc. This smirk on his face is new to you, though, and you can't read it.

You finally reach the door and go to sit on the porch steps. To your dismay, Dallas decides that he needs some fresh air, because here he is on the front porch with you. He's not staring at you anymore, though. His eyes are distant, looking for something that isn't there. "Where you been all day?" he asks you. You hate the way your heart flutters, thinking that maybe he actually cares, but he doesn't.

"Home with the sis for the most part," you manage to sputter out without stuttering. He merely nods and offers you another cigarette; you take it greedily with only a moment's hesitation.

What number smoke is this? Million and one? Million and two? Too much for one day, for sure, but you'll probably keep smoking long into the night. There's a silence that's fifty percent awkward and fifty percent peaceful. Dal looks at you again, nothing more than a glance, really. "You stayin' the night?"

You wait, mulling over his question. You take another drag from your smoke. Are you staying the night? Does he even care? Probably not. But it doesn't matter anyway, because you are most certainly _not _staying the night. That you know for sure. "Nah, Ma is workin' the nightshift tonight, and you know how she works in a really rough neighborhood." You almost think to laugh, because every neighborhood around here is really rough, but Dally is looking at you like he's waiting, so you continue on with your excuse. "I just want to make sure her and Janie get home fine."

He seems satisfied with your explanation, but something in his expression changes and you can't help but wonder why. You stop yourself, though, since it will lead to false hopes that you just don't want to deal with right now.

You don't want to leave. You like it like this; the cool air, the smell of cigarette smoke, the silence, right here with Dallas. But you need to leave, for your own good, or else you might do some bat shit crazy thing that'll probably get you killed.

You look up at the sky, perhaps looking for some sign of why you're so messed up. "It's gettin' late," you say after one last drag on your cigarette, even though it isn't. "I should get going." You clatter down the steps and as an afterthought, you add, "Tell Johnny I said to feel better." And with that, you're off.

You get home and Janie is by the door, her head in her hands. Upon further inspection, you notice that she's been crying; her eyes are red and you can still see the tear streaks on her cheeks. Her shirt is buttoned wrong. A lot of people think you're stupid, but you aren't, because you can connect the dots well; something went wrong with her and her boyfriend. "Janie? You okay?" you ask in a concerned, even tone.

She nods. "Of course, why wouldn't I be? I just locked myself out, is all," she replies. She's always hated crying in front of you – in front of anyone. You hadn't realized the door was locked when you left. By some luck though, you have a key, so you let yourselves in.

Janie tries to go to her room, but you steer her towards the couch instead. "Nice try, kid. Now this time answer honestly. Are you okay?"

"No, I ain't." She starts to cry again, and you want to comfort her, but you've never been good at that sort of thing. You hug her awkwardly and she hugs you back, crying on your shirt. You can feel the wet spot against your skin; it's warm against the cold air of the house.

"What happened, Janie?" you ask, because with all this reaction, you know it has to be bad. Janie's always been able to hide emotions well.

"You'll – You'll get mad," she chokes out between sobs.

Probably. You pat her back and coo, "No, I won't, Janie. I promise."

You hear her sniffle a little. "Fine," she mutters, "Jim dumped me for some middle class whore!" she yells, with a mixture of rage and sadness. "And that's ain't all, either. He dumped me right after we…" she looks up at you with a look of guilt that makes you feel sick in the stomach. "After we had sex," she says, hardly above a whisper. You clench your fists and your knuckles turn white.

You lean back with a sigh of defeat and look over at Janie. "Want me to kick his ass for you?" you ask with a lazy grin.

She laughs and shakes her head. "No thanks. I already kicked him in the groin."

You cackle at that for a minute. "That's my girl." And the two of you high five each other.

Janie lays her head on your shoulder, and for a minute all you can hear is the fan spinning and the two of you breathing. "What about you? You ain't lookin' too good yourself. Oh, and don't lie. If I have to follow the honesty policy, so do you."

Ugh. You tilt your head back and stare at the ceiling. You don't need this right now. "Just a bad day, Janie. Don't worry about it. I'm just a little scrambled, is all." You look over at her, pleading her not to ask anymore, but she doesn't budge.

"Ha, ha, ha. Bullshit. The whole story. Seriously, Keith. The guys have been worried about you; you've been actin' different. Fess up, before I beat it out of you." She's not joking either; when she wants something, she finds a way to get it.

"Don't worry about it, Janie. You wouldn't understand," is all the excuse you can come up with right now, even though she could probably make more sense out of it than you ever could.

She scoffs. "Then _make_ me understand."

You ponder over your options. Would she care? Do you really want to tell her? Yes. You want to tell someone – anyone.

"If I'm gonna tell you, I need a cigarette."

She smiles at you, and you hope it isn't the last time you see her direct a smile towards you. "Done." She fishes one out of her purse and hands it to you.

You don't light it at first; you fiddle with it, twirling it between your fingers. But the urge to light it grows stronger and you light it up with Janie's lighter. "You'll hate me," you state with finality.

"As much of a pain in the ass you can be, I don't think I'd ever be able to hate you."

You suck in a deep breath and just breathe for a second. "Not even if I was queer?" You hear a sharp intake of breath and you tense, waiting for something, a yell, a hit, anything.

And then, for all your drama, all she says is, "No way! You are? I don't believe it."

"You… You don't hate me?" you ask disbelievingly.

"Are you stupid? 'Course I don't hate you."

"Oh, thank God!" you shout, and then tackle her with a hug.

She laughs and pushes you away. "You still haven't explained why you had a bad day, though," she reminds you.

You lose your smile and the room grows somber again. "I did a lot of thinkin' today. And it's just that… I don't know. I'm fucked up, is all. Somethin' has to be wrong with me, you know, for me to be the way I am. The worst part is that I ain't even a fag for all guys, you know, just Dallas, and I used to love gettin' with girls – all sass and curves. But now I can't since I got Dally on my mind," you say in one breath.

Janie is just sitting there, and you wonder what she's thinking. Her head cocks to the side and you know she's compartmentalizing; what to address first, then after that, and so on.

"Well, just because you're gay doesn't make you fucked up. It makes you different, but you've always been a little different and that's never mattered before. I think you just need to worry less. It ain't the end of the world, ya dig?" She looks at you, hopeful, thriving for praise.

"Yeah." You nod in agreement. "Thanks, Janie."

She merely smiles. "I'm sorry about Jim," you whisper, because you genuinely are.

She shrugs. "Fuck him."

Janie goes to bed later, after two more smokes. You should really cut back on those for tonight.

Janie's words were thoughtful, but they did little to settle your nerves. And despite what you told her, you aren't going to stop worrying anytime soon, because you know just how fucked up you are.

You hate how much you love everything about Dallas Winston, and how he makes the night drag on, and the day last forever.


End file.
